by Brad Taylor
I got him on my secure Taskforce phone and relayed the situation. As expected, he balked.
“Pike, we’re at Jackpot. We’ve accomplished our mission. Let’s get Lucas on the Skyhook and call it a day. We don’t have Omega authority for anything else.”
“Are you kidding me, sir? His information changes everything. He’s confirmed another assassin, and the Omega was predicated on the hit being stopped with the capture of Lucas. Shit, taking him down didn’t alter anything at all.”
“You’re assuming he’s telling the truth.”
“No, I’m worst-casing it. If he’s not telling the truth, then we have nothing to fear because the assassin’s in the back of our van. If he is, we can’t afford to ignore it.”
“Let me get this information to Kurt and the Taskforce. He’ll get Omega and make this whole thing legal.”
I looked at my watch, feeling a chill. “Too late. Envoy’s on the ground. We either go unilateral, or he dies.”
55
The Ghost watched an attractive Westerner walk by him to the elevators. She had come from the back, and he wondered if they would bring the envoy’s party in that way. He hadn’t seen any metal detectors and assumed it was blocked off.
No matter. They’ll still have to pass within range to reach the elevators themselves.
The itinerary he’d been given showed that the envoy should already be on the ground. The Ghost knew they would check into the hotel prior to going to Sheikh Mohammed bin Rashid’s palace for a personal visit. After that, the royal tour of the town, to include the Burj Khalifa.
A flurry of activity out front attracted his attention. Three Mercedes limousines wheeled up, and out sprang eight men, five in Western suits, three in traditional Gulf Arabic attire. He surreptitiously snaked a hand into his knapsack and turned on the IMSI grabber.
The men were met at the front door by a receptionist and led around the security in place to the northern elevators, manned by two large security guards. In seconds, they were lost from sight. The Ghost killed the power to his device.
He had to wait less than fifteen minutes before the elevators opened and the entourage spilled out again, walking at a fast clip. Caught off guard, he dropped the coffee he was holding and powered up the grabber again. The men were out the front door in a flash, and he wondered if he’d managed to catch any of the numbers the second time around.
He waited until the limousines were out of sight before exiting himself and flagging a cab. He went back to his hotel and examined the clutch of numbers inside the grabber. Each cycle was stored by date and time, allowing him to filter the results.
Since the grabber drew in every cell phone within range, he had collected over three dozen numbers in the short span of time he had powered it up. No way could he tell which number was the envoy’s by simply looking at the list. Which is why he had cycled the grabber twice. All he had to do was identify the cell numbers that were in both cycles. Those phones would have been within range of the grabber each time the envoy passed by, and thus would more than likely be part of the entourage.
He found twelve that were duplicated in each cycle. Undoubtedly, one or two were from the receptionist or even security, but that didn’t matter. He needed only one number associated with the entourage. One cell phone to seek out his IMSI grabber in the elevator and trigger the alarm. He’d simply plug in all twelve, knowing that somewhere in the batch lay the envoy’s own phone. The only way it would fail was if the receptionist or some other false number took a trip to the Burj Khalifa observation deck before the envoy, and that was a small chance.
He packed the grabber, seating it next to the WiFi repeater, then changed into his borrowed Burj Khalifa maintenance uniform. He patted the pocket to ensure he hadn’t lost the key card for the basement entrance. Now that he was at an endgame, he didn’t want to rely on anyone else, even his close friend Hamid.
He checked himself in the mirror, seeing the same frail man that others discounted, his thick glasses adding to the disarming effect. The reflection brought the start of a smile.
He was invisible to most people looking, a person not worth a second glance. A wisp of a man who others ignored, he had found his calling in not existing at all. In becoming a wraith without substance. The talent had allowed him unprecedented success in the past.
And so it would be here.
As Knuckles and I walked into the spice souk, I could see we were going to have a tough time trying to get anyone out of there in flex-cuffs. Especially since it would more than likely be a brown guy carried by a bunch of white guys. Well, three white guys and a black guy who spoke English.
Decoy came through my earpiece. “Got the bed-down, and you’re not going to like it. Third-floor room, only entrance is a very narrow stairwell. Rooms on each landing with people selling fake Rolexes and Coach bags on the first floor.”
“So we can’t get in without being seen?”
“No way. We can’t get in without being accosted to buy something.”
Figures.
After exhausting every option he could think of, Blaine had finally blessed off on letting us crack the bed-down site. I have to admit, I was impressed, because he would eventually have to brief Kurt, and it would cost him his job, if not something more permanent. He had, of course, demanded a SITREP after the fact before giving authority for anything else.
We’d flex-cuffed Lucas to an anchor point in the van, purchased a set of noise cancelation headphones and taped them to his ears, gagged him, then put the hood back on. Finally, Knuckles had used a rear naked choke to render him unconscious. I didn’t want to leave him alone, but I only had four people and needed everyone for the bed-down site.
While Knuckles and I came up with a half-baked plan, I’d sent Brett and Decoy to pinpoint the location using the beacon Lucas had emplaced, which was still pinging strongly.
I said, “Give me a grid.”
Seconds later, a text message came with a photo attached. I loaded it into the GPS software of my phone and started walking in the direction of the arrow. After winding through the souk for a couple of minutes, I spotted the stairwell from the photo Decoy had sent. He was right-it was very narrow and sandwiched between two different shops selling handmade tourist crap.
I pulled up short and called him back, looking at Knuckles as I spoke.
“Got any ideas?”
Decoy said, “Not really. I’m thinking we blow off the clandestine side of things and just go on up there like we own the place.”
“Yeah, but if the guy hawking the Rolexes is friends with whoever lives there, he’ll know we don’t belong.”
Knuckles interjected, “Send Brett up first. He engages the Rolex guy and gets inside the apartment where they’re selling the stuff. Once we have that guy out of the way, then we walk up like we own the place.”
Even though he was standing right next to me, he had said it on the radio. I nodded my head, liking the plan. “You guys copy that?”
“Yeah, we got it.”
“Let’s execute. Decoy, you got the lock, Knuckles, first in. Brett, when you’re done, take up early warning at the bottom.”
“This is Brett. Roger all. I’m moving. I’ll key the mike when I’m inside.”
I saw him turn the corner, then advance up the stairs. We waited for about thirty seconds, then heard Brett saying “Do you have a gold Submariner?” followed by a muffled response.
Knuckles and I walked straight to the stairwell, meeting Decoy at the entrance. We sprinted lightly up the stairs, taking them two at a time, no weapons drawn yet. The landing to the apartment was just as narrow as the stairwell, with room for only one person. Decoy took a knee and began working the lock manually to prevent anyone from hearing the noise of the electric gun.
Three minutes later he looked over his shoulder and gave an exaggerated nod. Knuckles and I pulled our Glocks from their concealed holsters and nodded back. Decoy turned the tension wrench, then pulled down on the door handle,
swinging it open. He leaned over backward and we went by him into the room.
The first room was tiny, about ten feet by twenty feet, with a desk holding a thirteen-inch television and a makeshift pallet on the floor. It was empty. Knuckles continued on into the second room, and I followed, bumping into him because the room was even smaller than the first. It contained a bed and a sliding-door closet, but no human beings.
I backed out and found Decoy.
He said, “Bathroom’s behind the entrance door. Clear.”
“Start searching. See what you can find.”
Five minutes later we had all we were going to get. There was very little to exploit-no computers, cell phones, or other electronic devices-but we found enough evidence to say that Lucas hadn’t been lying about the bed-down location.
Knuckles had discovered several maintenance uniforms for the Burj Khalifa building, and Decoy, spraying an aerosol can on various items in the room, had turned a backpack splotchy pink. The can held an explosive residue reagent, and the color meant the backpack had contained plastique of some type.
I was coming up with how I could use what little evidence we had to convince Blaine to let us continue fishing when Brett called.
“Man entered stairwell. Unknown on the way up.”
56
The radio call caused everyone to perk up.
I remembered where the tenant worked and said, “What’s he wearing? Traditional dress?”
“No. He’s wearing some sort of maintenance uniform.”
The words hung in the air as we each stared around the tiny room for a place to hide in ambush, looking like we were in a seventies sitcom. There wasn’t even a lampshade to put on our heads.
“Decoy, bathroom. Let the door open, then close it behind him. Knuckles, other room. When he enters, let’s get on him quickly. No Tasers. The threat is him screaming. Don’t let him make any noise.”
Just as we got situated, with Knuckles facing me on the opposite side of the bedroom entrance, I remembered a potential giveaway and whispered into my radio, “Decoy, lock the door. I say again, lock the door.”
I heard a whispered “Roger,” then the distinct click of the old lock, hoping the man in the stairwell was either deaf or too stupid to recognize the sound.
Thirty seconds later the lock snicked again, then I heard the door creak open. What I didn’t hear were any footsteps entering the room. No shuffle, no keys thrown on a desk, nothing. I gave Knuckles a quizzical look. He just shrugged, both hands on his weapon.
The man spoke up in Arabic. I didn’t understand the words, but it wasn’t too hard to figure out what he was saying. Anyone in there?
We’d left the room a mess, and he’d seen evidence of our search. I held my breath. All we needed were three small steps. Just enough to clear the door.
I strained my ears, trying to determine if he’d entered or not. He said the same thing in Arabic again, clearly suspicious. Then I heard what sounded like a piece of lumber hitting a wall.
I breached the doorway and saw Decoy dragging an unconscious Arab into the room from the landing.
He said, “He was about to leave. I clocked him with the door. I didn’t think it would knock him out, but it did. Lucky he didn’t fall down the damn stairs.”
I closed the entrance door while Knuckles and Decoy searched him, finding key cards and identification for the Burj Khalifa but little else. I radioed Brett and gave him a status, asking him to check out any reaction on the lower landings.
He came back moments later. “You’re good to go, but I’m claiming this fake watch. Had to buy it to support my reason for being in the stairwell a second time.”
“Let me guess. You got the gold Submariner.”
“Hell no. Omega Seamaster. That’s what James Bond wears.”
Chuckling, Decoy and Knuckles tied up then gagged the unconscious man. I filled a glass with water from the bathroom sink and splashed it in his face. He woke up instantly, whipping his head left and right. Seeing white boys, he attempted to leap to his feet and found he was trussed like a pig for slaughter. His eyes grew wide, the terror clearly evident. His hands began to tremble in the flex-cuffs like a man with Parkinson’s disease. It wasn’t the reaction of a master terrorist.
He’s never been in the arena. Never done any operational acts.
It changed my approach. I had planned on using the information we knew to try to elicit more data from him, tripping him up with my supposed omniscience. I figured there was no way he would freely give me anything, and I would have to outwit him using trickery. He had no idea what I did or didn’t know, and I hoped for him to give me something new because he thought I already had it, as a stalling tactic.
That interrogation plan had been based on a hardened terrorist. Someone who understood the risks and the pain that would come if he were captured. A terrorist like that could resist pressure for a great while. We only had about an hour to figure out what was going on, not nearly enough time for any sort of physical threat or action to sway a man who’s prepared and has the strength of will to resist. Now, seeing the man cower, I decided to go full bore as the mean guy, see if he would crack.
I put on my best Shrek face and leaned in close. “Tell me you don’t speak English and I’ll rip out your tongue. Understand?”
He nodded his head vigorously.
“We’ve been hired by Sheikh Mohammed bin Rashid to track a man called the Ghost. He’s here to kill an American. We know he’s using the Burj Khalifa for the attack. We’ve watched you for days and know you are also involved.”
Hell, might as well throw a little omniscience in there as well.
He shook his head violently. Time for the bad guy.
“Hand me the pliers.” Knuckles gave me a pair of vise grips he’d found in the back. I held them up to his nose, so close he could smell the grease on them.
“Don’t shake your head again. What I told you is fact. Denying it doesn’t make it go away. I’m first going to crush your toes with these pliers. Then your fingers. Eventually, I’ll work my way to your genitals. The duration is up to you, but I assure you that you have enough appendages to keep me busy for quite a while. Do you understand?”
His eyes grew wet, and a single tear tracked down his cheek. He squeezed them shut and nodded. Success.
To solidify it, I went to good cop. “Tell me what I want to know, and I won’t harm you at all. I have no desire for that. I simply want to stop the attack. You work with me, and you walk away with your life, your limbs intact. Understand?”
He opened his eyes, wanting to believe what I said, but unsure. I could see the walls breaking inside him. He nodded again, with more force.
I returned to bad cop. “Lie to me, even once, and the pain will be immediate. I know quite a bit of what’s been planned. You people have been sloppy. You say something wrong, and I might start with your penis.”
Decoy removed his gag, and the man began talking. A fountain of information that we couldn’t have shut off if we tried. Within six minutes I was sure we had everything the man knew, and the information wasn’t pretty.
After he grew quiet, I said, “You’ve done well. I’m going to untie you now. You’ll be coming with us.”
He looked confused and said, “I thought you would leave if I told you everything?”
“I’ll leave when your information pans out. If it doesn’t, I’ll be your personal nightmare. Hold out your wrists.”
He did so, and I saw his brain working. Wondering why we would uncuff him if we really worked for the sheikh of Dubai.
“I’m setting your hands free because I can’t have anyone talking about this in the souk. I don’t want word to spread that you’ve been taken. You must act naturally all the way to our vehicle. If you don’t, you will disappear. Understand?”
He nodded, I cut his wrist ties, and Decoy pushed him to the door. I said, “Get him to the van. I’m calling Blaine.”
Bundling him out the door, Knuckles said, �
�You had me convinced he was in for some pain. What were you going to do if he clammed up?”
“Nothing. Just bag him.”
I let them get down the stairs, then dialed the TOC.
“Sir, I’ve got most of what’s going on. The attack’s at the Burj Khalifa, like we thought, but it isn’t any frontal assault. They’re using the elevators. The guy doesn’t know how-he’s really a maintenance man-but he helped the Ghost get access to the elevator shafts. I’m headed there now.”
“Can you defeat it before they get there?”
“I don’t know. I don’t have an accurate itinerary. Just call Kurt and tell him to relay not to use the elevators in the Burj Khalifa.”
“Doing it now. Get your ass moving. According to what I have, he’s either there or en route.”
I made it to the van without issues, seeing all three of my teammates outside arguing.
“What’s the problem? We need to move.”
They all looked at me sheepishly, then Knuckles cracked open the sliding door, allowing me to see inside. One man was trussed on the floor, a bag on his head. It was the guy we had just captured.
“Where the fuck is Lucas?”
I knew the answer even before I asked the question.
Knuckles held up a carbon-fiber knife with a broken blade. “Gone. Like the last time we had him. I knew we shouldn’t have left him alone.”
Jesus Christ. That guy is Houdini. I remembered Jennifer was in his hotel room and immediately dialed her phone. It went to voice mail.
Decoy said, “We already called her. No joy.”
Every fiber in my body was screaming to get back to the Bustan Rotana, to get her to safety. The men were all waiting for a decision, wondering which way I would go after my call in Lebanon.
McMasters was on the way to the Burj Khalifa, and the Ghost was already there. But Jennifer was in real danger. Lucas, while he had apparently told us the truth about his mission, was a psychopath. A threat on the loose.